


No Regrets, Anyway

by Jimlock



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Newt, BAMF Newt Scamander, F/M, Hurt, M/M, Newt Has Nightmares, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, newt is hurt really badly, poor newt!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimlock/pseuds/Jimlock
Summary: Newt is just back in town to say hi to Tina (or maybe Jacob). Unfortunately, Tina has other plans. Plans Newt didn't forsee. He ends up on the wrong side of the law again in short order- and this time, he falls directly through the cracks. Into the waiting hands of none other than Grindelwald. This time, there's no getting out, and after being sent to the No-Maj island infirmary off NYC for the terminally insane and (pesky wizardkind) he discovers just how low he has fallen from grace- and how even Tina is no longer listening, content in the belief that he's safely locked away for his own good.Meanwhile, The Re-Instated Grindel... Percival Graves (ahem) has some business with Newt. It could take a century for all Grindelwald cares. All he wants is to grind the spirit out of Newt till he's nothing but a pawn. Unfortunately, not even the No-Maj caretakers are concerned by Newt's ever-worsening physical condition, nor the endless and seemingly obvious marks of torture that cover his body. He's just crazy- and is probably due for some time in a strait-jacket lest he hurt himself.Porpentina Goldstein is possibly going to visit the prisoner... In a month or so. Once he's good again. Perhaps.





	1. Chapter 1

Newt smoothed down the letter from Tina.

 

"Dear Mr Scamander-

I hope you're doing well. Attached is my address, should you chose to come back and see us. I do hope you are by for the holidays!

-Your Affectionate Tina"

 

Pickett clicked and chittered on the portmanteau. Huffing, Newt folded the letter neatly and shoved it inside its weathered envelope. Well, then. Perhaps he really could use a holiday. At any rate, he could drop by and entertain Jacob with tales of Italian water monsters. The brave, bold fellow always seemed to be good company whenever Newt got in the talkative mood about his adventures, and this time would surely be no different.

"All clear Pickett," Newt sang, whisking the Bowtruckle off the writing desk and heading off to consult his schedule diary. "Time for a holiday. A holiday to New York."

Pickett booed noisily.

"No boogers! Now we talked about this."


	2. An Unfortunate Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little does Newt understand the wiles of womankind. Much to his dismay, he may be outmatched.

Queenie could hear him, the man; his hand was on the doorhandle, and his heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he couldn't hear his own thoughts for the noise.

"Newt," Queenie hailed. "Do come in, please!"

The door squeaked open by degrees and a bronzed, freckled face peered 'round the edge. Green-blue eyes blinked and Newt puckered his mouth to the side in lieu of greeting. He swooshed in and shut the door.

Why, he had gotten ever more handsome, hadn't he, and ain't he just something the way he can't even look straight at a girl...

"Sit down honey," Queenie cooed, magicking a chair out from the table with a deft flick of her wand. "Dinner's about ready! Teenie is just in her room. We didn't know you was coming!"

"Oh." His mouth formed a wet O and his cheeks turned ruddy. Newt leapt eagerly into the chair and stowed his briefcase at his side. His brain started to hum, interjecting a variety of accusing items such as...

'Unfair, really, popping in on them like this.'

'I ought to just leave.'

'Such a bother.'

Queenie giggled, quite involuntarily. Newt's gaze flashed up to her, startled. It felt so good having those lucid, dreamy eyes fixed on hers. What a tragedy that Teenie thought he was hers for Christmas. Simply unfair.

"Baby," Queenie whispered, hushed. Stepping closer to the table, she put her hands down in front of Newt and leaned into his space, purposefully allowing her sheer emerald dress to part ways with her bosom. He was looking at her now, a bright shade of red tinging his cheeks and leaving his mouth peaky. She could feel the heat emanating from her beating into his mind in waves, drenching and bewildering him. He looked like he was drowning.

Queenie closed the remaining space like a cat and pressed her lips onto his- those sumptuous masterpieces of human feature. Being chaste would be a waste. She pressed inward; her tongue was sweet from the apples she'd been stewing. She knew he liked apples, a happy coincidence, as a familiar jolt of sensation surged through his head. Newt let out a whimper. Involuntarily, he raised his hands and they curved around her shoulders, digging into the silky dress. He was neither resisting nor participating in the kiss. 

The inside of his mouth tasted of dry perspiration, determination, dehydration and low blood sugar. The idiot had clearly skipped lunch and breakfast, and that short sip of cider on the boat didn't help much...

Like a hawk, Queenie snagged a mental picture from Newt's imagination. The raven-haired, dark woman in his memory was lovely, entrancing, and supremely powerful. She deserved him, every iota. It was not his to say her nay. It would have been wrong. He owed her so much- his life. A thread of anguish tinged his recollection and she could see him snap back to the present moment. 

Fear surged into his mind in an overwhelming wave. A visceral reaction to the tongue invading his mouth; a near apoplectic gagging. Newt collapsed backward from the kiss and fell to his knees at her feet, cupping his face in his hands. Muffled apologies, groans and tearful sounds emanated.

"Honey," Queenie whispered, dropping a hand to his head. "It don't mean nothing. Please, you're alright."

Newt's shoulders were shaking convulsively, racked by silent sobbing. Some brief memory flitted through his mind; Leta Lestrange, standing imperiously over him, crooning a spell.

'This is it. You're mine now. Are you ready?'

Yes, yes, oh so ready...

Flushing, Queenie recoiled. Her fingers tightened in his red hair. An unbreakable charm. He was bound to this woman. Forever.

What cruelty, what waste!

She pulled his head up and stared down into his eyes, nearly mad. Just a little. "You was fooling wasn't you. You can't love me, you ain't got no heart left."

"I I wasn't," Newt said. "Promise. Sor- So sorry. So very, very sorry. I am sorry."

Queenie abandoned him. The feeling of hurt constricted her chest and pained her rather deeply. To think she'd had a chance with him, only to be foiled by a Lestrange. And a past one, at that! Leta could just go die for all Queenie cared.


	3. Can't Catch Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina isn't sure what's gotten into Newt. Obviously he'd come to see *her*- so why the focus on Queenie?

"Mr Scamander," Tina said brusquely, passing him the teapot. Oh, fuck it, just pouring him some lousy old tea. God knows he'd stare at the pot for an hour and then excuse himself if she didn't go to the trouble of pouring it, adding a lump of sugar, and a dash of milk... Just so.

The cheeky idiot just stared at her fingers on the sugar spoon, his brows digging furrows in his brown forehead. 

"Do you want to be a farmer, or something?" Tina's voice sounded piqued, even to her own ears.

Scamander's head bobbed up as though a puppet-master had yanked it. Such lost eyes.

Tina felt her throat go dry. There he was, looking... Finally, at her. What a sweet fellow. How sensitive. How caring. She could see straight down, down, into the depths of his soul, in those green glass, caerulean eyes...

"Brown," Tina managed. "You're like a nut. Don't you believe in keeping your skin in better shape than that? You're basically a savage."

"A..." Newt was clearly struggling to grasp the concept. A flicker of anger lanced briefly across his eyes. "A- savage? No. There are... Tina, there's no such thing as a savage, just people more or less- civilized." He snorted. Wiping his mouth, and grabbing the tea cup. It went down in three gulps. "Nobody's better than each other just because of sun or breeding or whatnot."

"Ooh!" Queenie said, in her manner of nearly hiccuping and then passing it off as a laugh. She simpered and her eyes widened at Tina. "What a sweet thing to say!"

It's not sweet, Queen, he's just backwards!

Scowling, Tina jammed her butter knife into her scone. She could feel Newt's accusatory eyes following her every move now, as though she were a predator and he was an equally matching force. It felt good. This was power. In fact, Newt needed to take it down a notch. 

"Newt," Queenie giggled. "I simply must hear some stories about everything you've been up to lately."

Tina became acutely aware of the moment Newt's gaze left her and lighted upon her sibling. The fire left his countenance and instead, a sort of begrudging admiration filled it. He coughed, re-arranged himself, and began to eat his buttered potatoes instead.

"S'nothing of import," he muttered between mouthfuls.

This was different. Tina glanced between them with a growing feeling of dread. A black wall of gloom was overtaking her; something was definitely off. Newt had a soft spot for Queenie. And Queenie... Was returning it. Or, rather, instigating it.

"Stop reading his mind," Tina snapped. "Queenie, please get along and turn down the spare bed for Mr. Scamander. You know how he feels when you invade his privacy like that."

She stood up, putting on her most innocent face. "Oh, Mr. Scamander! I didn't mean nothing by it, I do hope you know that. Sure honey, I'll set a bed up nice for you." Swooping over to Newt, Queenie ran her hand down his arm from his shoulder. She shivered with apparent delight. Newt froze. "You weren't planning on running off on us again were you?"

"N-no," Newt managed to croak.

"Queenie!" Tina said, flushing. "Get along now!"

She clapped him on the back and waltzed away at long last, leaving Tina to stare down her prey in relative silence.

"Scamander."

Newt was staring steadfastly at the table. His mouth was tight.

"You and I should go out to a ball tomorrow. I won't bring Queenie, don't worry- just you and me." Tina felt her throat become scratchy. She twisted her napkin in her lap. "Just us."

With a sigh, Newt stood and placed his hands on the table. He adopted a long-suffering look. "I don't really like dancing, I'm sorry."

Tina's breath constricted. "No? Never mind that stupid! I can teach you of course. Where's the fun in sitting around this old place when we could be out on the town?"

His eyes burrowed resolutely into the tabletop, which was apparently far more interesting than Tina's face. She had a nice face. He ought to look at it. Why wouldn't he, anyway?

"I'm not terribly good at gallivanting," Newt sighed, "or- or dancing."

"Newt," Tina managed. It sounded rather wavery and thin.

"Uh," Newt said. "Huh. Yes?"

She couldn't bear this anymore. She sprang up from the table and whirled on her heel, marching over to the kitchen.

"Yes!" Newt said. "I'll go. I trust you Tina, I'm sure it'll be alright then? If you say so..."

A grim smile worked itself across her face. It should be easy work to push him till he accepted her overtures and returned them tenfold. Tina had a plan, and her plans always worked. She could barely wait to get a handful of his hair, and maybe push him into her pillow; dress him in one of Queenie's nightgowns? He'd look dazzling. If only he would just take care to what could be his natural white skin.

"Stay out of the sun," Tina groused, finally turning back to him. "Or I'll make you. There's a half dozen infractions you're committing simply by standing in my living room, I'm sure one of them could serve toward some jail time if only to save your precious hide."

Newt scowled, snatched up his briefcase, and marched into the other room.

Well goodnight to you too, Mr. Scamander!


	4. Ugly Duckling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt is definitely out of his depth. Unfortunately, he's about to make several grave mistakes.

"You're such an ugly duckling," Tina said snidely, her fingers digging into Newt's arm like talons within the white gloves she was wearing. Lovely gloves, in fact. He'd never seen such beadwork. It looked medieval. 

"Sorry," Newt muttered, sparing her a sidelong glance. Of course she was lovely. Her eyes were shadowed in a faint grey glitter and she was actually wearing lipstick. It wasn't every day he had someone basically clinging to his arm... 

"Couldn't possibly pack a tuxedo for grand occasions. You think you can just show up wearing a threadbare suit Scamander? Boring."

"It's my only suit," Newt grunted, feeling a tad peeved. At this point, he'd had nothing to eat all night and the dancing had been horrendously strenuous. If Tina knew how to be normal, she'd have let them stray over to the tables...

"You're stiff as a doll," Tina went on, really having a blast now. She pinched his forearm just to feel him twitch reflexively. "Why so tense, Scamander? Are you gearing up to kiss me or something?"

Kiss?!

Swiveling his gaze to her, Newt could only stare in open-mouthed shock. Of all ideas... Absolutely NO. Never. Ever. Not after... After Queenie, good god.

The light from the chandeliers made Tina's eyes sparkle mischievously. They held a vivacious life of their own, but her mouth was quirking to one side now. Her hand on his forearm tightened by degrees. Suddenly nothing made sense anymore. His collar was tightening and choking him. The press of finely-dressed people swirling around them dwindled to a faint echo. Tina's eyes widened and her face closed the distance between them, mouth puckering dramatically...

She was kissing him. Her mouth was soft, imperious, and overall, rather chaste. Just like a woman's mouth should be, in a perfect world. But this was not a perfect world. The hexes on him began to take effect. First, the sensation of strangling. Then, the shock, the automatic repulsion. There was nothing for it. Newt jerked spastically backward and gasped, covering his eyes with a hand lest she see the tears.

"Th-thank you." He was barely able to cough it out. "I'm not much of-of a kisser, sorry!"

Tina's hands were now on his shoulders. She was looped around him and swaying them together as though dancing. He could feel every edge of her rather-sharp pelvis and hips. Clearly, she didn't eat enough. This was why he was literally starving to death despite an abundance of food over yon. The heat of her body was intoxicating, yet deeply discomforting. He felt himself becoming overheated. He was still shaking, his fingers gripping his face and shielding his eyes. 

"Newt Scamander," Tina crooned, sing-songing. "Look at you, all handsome and lovey. What's the matter with you, honey? Should we take it to the bedroom? I can feel..." her voice dropped to a whisper. She nudged his crotch with her pelvis again. "I can feel how eager you are."

Before Newt could so much as open his mouth in protest, he could feel the force of apparating closing in on them. She was sucking him with her, their bodies nearly glued together as the vortex whirled about them.


	5. Charmed Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: non-con!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Most of what I write is from personal experience. I'm not glorifying non-con. I'm trying to de-toxify by writing about my own experiences in a way that makes sense of them and attempts to understand the horribly complex issues of rape and assault and what I call "grey" consent, which is consent in any type of duress.)

"Please don't," Newt whispered, feeling tears of mortification well up. He was on his stomach, facedown in Tina's bed, under a severely constricting spell. He felt as though he were deep underwater. She had slipped a charm over him while mid-apparating, and when they literally slammed into her bed and toppled onto it on arrival, he had found himself to be made of jelly and utterly defenseless. Even now, it seemed as though he could not raise a finger, let alone a limb. As though a lock held sway over his conscious mind and efforts to the contrary.

Tina's hand smoothed up his back. "Don't what?" She seemed genuinely concerned. "Are you well, Scamander?"

"Not well," Newt fibbed. "I feel- well, I can't get up, Tina! Why is that?"

Her clever fingers dug into his ass-cheeks through his trousers. He felt a hot blush of blood taint his cheeks. It was a good thing he was facedown in her pillows... This would absolutely, utterly, bugger it! -never do!

"Aaaaaarrrrre you," Newt quavered, clenching his jaw, "trying to give me a tumble?"

No answer; instead, the insistent hands threaded in down the front of his shirt and untucked it, then set to work on the buttons and suspenders.

"Tina?"

Now that just sounded utterly pathetic. Newt had risked life and limb many a time simply to write down a new sentence of information in his book, and he was utterly useless when it came to his own kind.

"Tina," Newt tried, grimly enough. "Tina, I shall die- and I'm not joking- if I should chose to go against my vow to Leta. I am hers and I have little choice. I'm sorry, I should've been- ow! more specific!"

He yelped as she slapped him on the now-bared buttocks with an open palm.

"Do you want the hand," Tina said, sounding flushed and triumphant, "or the whip?"

He could barely think of an answer before a horse crop descended on his back with due fury. He gritted his teeth and attempted to grab onto his surroundings, but it was impossible; his fingers felt dead.

"Don't you want this?" Tina cajoled, dragging the crop over his bare skin, and down his leg. Indeed, now he wasn't sure if he did, or didn't. It was no longer easy to come up with an answer in the face of such ruthless behavior.

"I can't," Newt tried.

"Think how I'll feel on your phallus, Scamander. Imagine my velvet womanhood. I know you want it. Let's see if you do, shall we? The strength of your manhood will not lie..."

She rather rudely flipped him over. He gasped at the sight of his own swollen member; disgorged with blood. Had he truly been that hard?! No wonder she chose to apparate with him; she was likely afraid he'd make a scene- or that it was indecent! Clearly, he was far, far more out of touch with himself than he'd realized!

"I'm not much a-a sexual being, really," Newt quavered, feeling a lump growing in his throat which was oddly like crying sans tears. His chest was shaking, and his heart was hammering. "Tina, please!"

Tina's face was strangely emotionless. She was frowning. He felt rather exposed.

"But you want me, look." She drew a delicate finger down his length and swirled it in the messy precum pooling at the tip. Newt twitched. "See, I know what your body wants. I can read it off you. Whether or not you're able to grant me permission due to your arrangement with Leta. Look, she's not here. Friends take care of friends, Scamander."

She was pumping him now, smearing his shaft with his own lubrication. With his shame. Newt was squirming, mouth open in a silent shout.

Tina smiled. "Oh, you're so sweet! I love you. Look at how inexperienced you are!"

That was when it happened. He was beginning to faint. He felt the world slowly spin, round and round. Or was it her, sheathing her warm self on his cock? Her fingers gripped his hips and she rode him like a witch rides a calf in the moonlight. Newt was spent. He felt his body give in to convulsions. Since he had not chosen to participate, the hexes lay dormant; unfortunately, that did absolutely nothing to ease the panic he felt. Everything, in fact, was blamable purely on his own inexperience and utter, hopeless lack of knowledge with women.

And then she was gone. He felt drunken and stuporuous, still too aroused to be any good, but not yet in post-coital haze. She was tugging all his clothing off him. The last thing Newt was aware of was Tina snuggling into bed with him and pulling up the comforter. Her head was sandwiched comfortingly on his chest and her arms were round him. He could no longer fight it. Oblivion had come to claim him.


	6. Nothing Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His travails are over, as far as he's concerned. Or are they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still non-con warning for this chapter. Again, almost everything here has happened in real life. The quotations are almost exactly true to life. Trying to explore the complex dynamic that can exist between the male and female psyche; not everything fits into classic stereotypes or definitions.

Newt could barely believe it. He was literally wearing one of Queenie's gowns. How the dickens it fit him, was impossible to say. The silky, blue one; he had to admit it looked rather fetching against his freckled skin. Not only that, but Tina was asleep on his chest. Her face was serene and her lashes thick and quite dark. Still had on last night's fancy makeup.

And Newt had morning wood. Had had it literally as soon as he awoke and found that his entire body was warm from hers. The humiliation of discovering he was clothed solely in a sheer, silk dress was an added bonus which had made him entirely hard. He wanted to die. Now, preferably; before she woke up.

Tina's hand snaked up and clasped his neck. Newt moaned softly as her fingers constricted his airflow. If only the dratted charm had worn off and he could move. Bugger it!

Feigning sleep now, Tina spoke directly into his head. Her voice was blindingly authoritarian. 

"No more games, Mr. Scamander. You say you don't want me, but you're holding out. Last night didn't count- just so you know."

"Not," Newt whimpered, barely still alive. A soft, comforting fuzziness was overtaking his brain. Like a rush of pleasure...

"Do you want a strong woman or someone who's afraid to touch you?"

Someone banged unceremoniously on the door.

Tina nearly growled. Her eyes slitted open a notch. "Queenie! Leave us alone for one second, would you?"

"But I was just making breakfast," Queenie wavered, petulantly, from the other side of the door. Newt could barely stand her voice. It grated on his every nerve now, instead of seeming comforting.

"Shut up and go away," Tina said.

The feet padded away. Tina sat up in bed, eyes gleaming, and wrapped both hands around Newt's throat. His erection was getting worse. "Do you want me to fuck you for real this time, Newt?"

With his last effort, Newt strained against the spell holding him fast. 

Extricatus.

He focused his mental powers upon it. Energy hummed in his head, buzzing. 

That was it! The magic snapped. Newt lurched up in bed, hands lunging up to grab the wrists of his assailant. Tina's eyes flashed with anger as he rocked her back from him, sputtering.

"Tina," Newt gasped. "Please! Take this miserable dress right off me!" She was fighting him now. He crashed out of bed, landing hard on his shoulder, and tore the offending piece of clothing off in actual shreds. The feck had she put his clothes!

Spying his wand on the floor, Newt dove for it. He immediately accio'd and retrieved his sultry items from the floorboards. It was a hasty, lopsided dressing.

"Now Tina," Newt began, severely. "I need you to understand that I cannot keep this up with you. Any longer. Do you hear?"

She was perched on the edge of the bed now, seething. 

"Oh yes?"

"We can't do this again. We won't."

"I'll show you how to make love to a woman. Are you a virgin? You're still a virgin."

Newt raised his eyebrows askance. "What exactly did I miss? Seriously?"

"You think I'd fuck a guy the first night?" Tina was laughing hysterically now.

"Look, you had your fun with me. It's over."

"Do you even know what sex is? Do you?"

Newt felt a twinge of disgust. "Vulgar."

"You should really try it sometime. It's fun. It's when you bend me over a table and screw me all night."

"Tina, I can't do that." He was slowly backing out of the room. He felt the door behind him, and swiftly drew the lock. Scrambling out, he shut the door a tad too firmly, ran madcap through the house, past the astounded Queenie, snatched up his case from the sitting room, and heedlessly apparated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intending to visit Jacob, Newt sets off - oblivious to the fact that he's about to commit a fairly serious infraction. Or does he simply not care?

The tidy little shop was impossible to miss even by Newt's standards. Thinking to drop by and chat with Jacob, who would doubtless remember to like him whether or not he recalled everything- he'd made his way to the man's apartment. But in the bustling morning crowd, he'd found himself instead confronting a little bakery which appeared to be rather well off... with Jacob Kowalski washing down the window of the door before officially opening for the day.

Newt stood gawping in the street for several seconds too long and Jacob looked up and met his eyes, his own soft brown ones rather quizzical. He quirked an eyebrow- appearing to recognize the coat at least from when he'd been given that Occamy-eggshell filled suitcase.

Jacob's reaction was quick. He unbolted and flung open the door, reached out and grabbed Newt by the arm, dragged him inside, and sat him rather rudely onto a stool behind the door; then apparently changed his mind and yanked him round, shoving him toward the back of the shop.

Before Newt could say 'bugger it, what is it old chap?' and belay the rude treatment, his old pal had got him by the collar up against the wall and was breathing somewhat stormily into his face, brows furrowed and more threatening than a thunder storm in April.

Newt opened his mouth and Jacob clapped an immediate meaty hand over it. Well! Merlin's beard, perhaps dropping in on obliviated friends was a dangerous pursuit, after all. Newt may have to rethink his strategy...

"I knowwww you," Jacob hissed, putting a severe emphasis on the word 'you'.

Going red-faced, Newt nodded- to the best of his ability, stifled as he was.

"But where from," Jacob matriculated. "I don't recall too much 'bout you, feller, but I can smell that youse danger. I do recall something of that sort and I don't like it one little bit. Didn't we meet in the war?"

Newt shook his head, engaging in an eyeroll.

"You come to collect your dues, or something?" Jacob brought his knee up between Newt's leg in an attempt at interrogatory menace of the genital area. A sharp nudge made him squirm. This was getting rather... Embarrassing.

"I-" Newt shrilled, struggling to escape the hand.

Jacob slammed his head back against the wall with a vengeance. The quaint little shop started to tilt. Had he ever actually seen Jacob in a fight? Newt couldn't recall. The man seemed far meatier, more present, and more terrifying than last time around. He was almost going to have to go for his wand.

Jacob's other hand abandoned his collar and wrapped itself firmly round his neck. Such a warm hand. The man's face swam ungently before Newt's eyes. He was on tiptoes against the wall, suspended and crushed in a mammoth grip. The distended sensation was making him lose sense of time and place. 

"Now you lissen to me," Jacob whispered, drawing close to his ear. The tone was almost sweet. He did love it when Jacob talked so.

"Don't you never... never... come round here again..."

The knee pressing his balls was about to discover the effects of pain, choking and whispering on Newt's physiology. A definitive erection. Why couldn't this have happened in a nicer way?

Jacob gasped and dropped him like a hot potato. Unfair. Newt deserved to be doing the gasping. He rolled over onto his back, coughing for air. People didn't hurt you if you faced upward toward them. If you looked away, you could expect to get kicked. It was the playing dead, the surrendering, and it definitely worked on humans; you had to show them their display of dominance had worked and you weren't a threat, but rather happy to rely on their mercy.

"Sorry," Newt managed. "Sorry! Jacob, we're friends. You may NOT remember me. But we are friends, Jacob!"

Jacob shook his head angrily, looking for all the world as though he himself were the hurt one.

That was it. Time to give him his memories back. Have to be quick so the spell went unnoticed. Whisking out his wand, Newt performed a silent but a powerful reversal spell to restore what Jacob had lost of their times together. Difficult to do them silently, of course. Required more visualization of the end result, and will power, but essential to ensure no listeners picked up the spell and turned him in...


	8. Apparitions from the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to go down in a pretty bad way.

There was a crack as of lightning. Jacob stumbled back from Newt, his expression both dumbfounded and awestruck, as aurors Apparated into the tiny bakery. Before Newt could accio his case, he found himself suspended mid-air, bound in shackles- even his feet! and summarily deprived of his wand. A howl of shock left him as Graves stepped to the forefront of the crew surrounding him.

"Newton Artemis Scamander," the man intoned monotonously, as though reading from a lengthy sentencing document. "You are hereby accused and found guilty of treason against the express orders of MACUSA to oblivate Jacob Kowalski. By reversing the law with a surreptitious, cloaked spell, you have indemnified yourself and forfeited any standing as a law-abiding wizard in New York." He jerked his wand sharply, and Newt felt energy run like electric circuits over his skin, blasting him with pain. He could barely breathe, he was gagging so hard on his own bile. How was it possible to feel the ironweight of the chains while dangling mid-air?

"Yet," Graves said, appearing to frown, "on behalf of the great service you have done the City of New York, and Wizardkind, by removing evidence of the disasters, we shall abridge your sentence greatly, and hold you for light correctional treatment instead of the death sentence warranted by your actions."

Graves lifted his wand, and Newt spun slowly in the air till he was gazing upward, upside down, at the man's proud features. His head was hanging so far back, weighted by the heavy iron collar around it to which the rest of his chains were attached. If this electrical torture went on much longer, they may as well just call it an execution- an unethical one at that, and clearly in violation of their own laws! Had Newt provoked lethal force against himself by resisting in some fashion, he could have understood why his entire body was being racked with excruciating pain. As it was, it seemed very much as though Graves was using a cloaked, silent form of Crucio.

Definitely illegal.

If this was Graves. Tina had written they'd found the real one. But had they?

"Why," Newt shrieked wildly, "are you using Crucio on me?"

Graves roundly decked him on the mouth. He spun about, head torqued at an unnaturally sharp angle by the brute force of the blow. Blood leaked immediately from his nose and ruined lips. They'd literally torn beneath the man's rings.

"Do you dare," Graves shouted overhead, "question your sentence, ingrate? This is New York, be grateful you're still alive! It was my order to preserve your wretched hide! These boys wanted to turn you into a rug, and they still might!"

Through a haze of tears, Newt saw Jacob crouched below one of his tables. An unnatural darkness had fallen in the shop. It was nigh on midnight black, with the ghostly light of the auror's wands as they gazed downward at him. Their robes flapped in a bewitched wind about poor Jacob's head.

If this is what they were going to do to Newt, what would they do to poor Jacob?

Summoning his last remaining power, Newt flung a protective spell Jacob's way. It was meant to shield him, but the moment it fell on the frightened man, Newt felt an immediate connection to him and realized too late what he'd done in his desperation: summon a life bond. If Newt died now, so would Jacob. And the opposite, potentially, as well, though wizards could live through a broken bond with a Muggle.

That was it, then. No more struggling for him... Or he'd almost certainly be killed. And that could have consequences. 

Jacob's overwhelming fear overcame his mind like a tsunami and Newt began weeping through his pain. Graves was grim overhead, looming and smiling. What bright teeth. Like a true predator.

A voice echoed mockingly into his head even as he found his throat quell under a magic force, gagging him completely.

You're mine, Mr. Scamander. To do with as I like. Let's see how long you survive, shall we?

The voice faded into stagnant, negative magic; something was nibbling away at the edges of his consciousness, dragging him under. It felt as though witchery was torrenting over him, swilling down into his nose. He was drowning. With a soft noise, Newton Scamander drifted into no man's land.


End file.
